


Seeing Pink

by Novantinuum (ChromaticDreams)



Series: Crack the Paragon [3]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: (set during season 3), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fic bonus scene, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Light Angst, Pearl makes a brief cameo, Steven has diamond eyes, Texting, and he's not too happy about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24559108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChromaticDreams/pseuds/Novantinuum
Summary: Following a video call with Connie, Steven reacts to the discovery that... his eyes aren’t alwayshumananymore.
Series: Crack the Paragon [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775119
Comments: 13
Kudos: 134





	Seeing Pink

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a quick bonus scene I wrote for funsies set after chapter 9 of Crack the Paragon, an AU diverging from the season three episode _Bismuth._ For flow reasons, it didn’t feel right placed in the main story. This is probably best enjoyed with full context, but for anyone who’s checking this one-shot out blind, the brief is as follows:
> 
> Steven split apart, revealing the Pink Diamond secret two seasons early- but Pearl still can’t speak about it, so things surrounding the topic of Mom are tense. His halves eventually fuse again. His gem, however, has flipped on its side like Pink’s. This fic is about his reaction to yet _another_ change this has brought...

His eyes...

Oh stars, as if his gem’s placement rotating and Garnet unfusing maybe forever wasn’t enough, the cosmos just _has_ to slap yet another unneeded emotional upheaval upon this day, huh?

_“...so honestly it could’ve just been a trick of the light, but…”_

Apparently— according to Connie— while he was floating th-they... they looked different, looked _inhuman,_ they’re—

_“...and your pupils were glowing, and all funny, kind of, uh- slitted?“_

_Like a Diamond’s,_ he pieces together.

Knowing much of the turmoil his Gem family has gone through at those tyrants’ hands, he almost feels sick at the thought.

“Steven?” she asks suddenly, visible concern marked on her face. “Steven, what’s wrong?”

“I, I...” he stammers, his gaze shying away from his phone screen in light of this new revelation, because if this is all true, if his eyes— if they really _are_ pink, are like his gem half’s, are like _Hers,_ then—

Decisively, his pounding, overloaded heart calls the shots for him.

“I’m really sorry, but I gotta go,” he blurts out before he can decide any different, before he can burden her with any more of his life nonsense. “I’ll text you later?”

“Uh- okay. Thanks for calling—“

Hastily, his thumb mashes against the power button, ending the video chat in a blink. His chest swells tight with guilt in response. Geeze, what a rude way to hang up. Stupid, stupid, _stupid!_ He could’ve at least had the courtesy to give her a proper goodbye. After all the time she spent so kindly listening to him moan on and on about his latest Gem crisis, she _at bare minimum_ deserves that, and yet this is the way he treats her.

 _Classy, Steven,_ he continues to berate himself, standing stiff and numb at the base of the lighthouse as he shoves his phone into his pocket. _Real classy. What a fantastic friend you are!_

For a moment his hand lingers between the layers of denim, tracing the narrow grooves in his bulky rubber phone case. He sucks in a shallow breath, replays the last few minutes in his mind, tries to deduce if anything felt new in the moments he was airborne, anything at all. ‘Cause he’s grown way more in tune with his gem over the past few months, right? He can summon shields at will now. He can float and heal on demand. But the thing is, all of these powers feel different when he uses them, hard light rushing through his veins in all numbers of manners. For example, willing a bubble into existence sorta seems all light and fizzy, like soda water. Summoning his shield is like light strengthening into steel- he physically feels more durable and safe whenever he has it out. Floating is always accompanied by the sensation of weightlessness, and the gentle hum of his gem. So the question is, if his eyes are becoming _changed_ somehow, and only when he‘s in the air, did anything feel different about floating that time around? Anything at all? His nose scrunches as he scours through recent memory for answers. The problem is, he has no idea what he’s looking for.

Snapping back to some half-baked state of awareness, Steven blinks away the dark spots in his vision, suddenly realizing with a pang of bemusement that he’s been thinking about Gem stuff so deep and hard that he‘s taken to staring impassively at the lighthouse’s wall as if its white-dappled brick work might divine some answer to his curious predicament. How long has he even been standing here all bleary eyed and mouth agape like this? Seconds? Entire minutes?

Gah, enough stalling. He... he needs a mirror. Quickly.

And with that, he launches in a mad sprint down the hill, propelled by nothing but the promise of anxiety should he fail to find answers. His heart twists as he feels the supple stems of innocent buttercups compress underfoot. He stumbles back, mouthing his apologies before side-stepping the rest of the patch and continuing his descent. _Pay attention!_ he chides himself. Upon reaching the bottom of the cliff, he cuts corners and leaps off the edge, floating the meager four feet to the beach below: a blatant test of his powers. So are there any changes? Now that he’s undistracted, does it feel different?

He tries with every ounce of fortitude he can muster to focus inwards. But by the time the heels of his flip flops clap against the sand, he’s got no new discoveries to account for. Floating feels same as always. Which means... if it really is happening— which is most probable, as he has no reason to doubt Connie’s testimony— he’ll never be able to know for sure in the moment without seeing his reflection.

The lack of autonomy this bitter truth promises him is as infuriating as it is haunting. He never chose any of this! Not his mo- not Rose having some sketchy, shadowed past, not his gem rotating to bare new facets when his halves fused into one again, not Garnet, not Amethyst and Pearl’s fight, and now... _this._

It’s scary. It’s like he’s trying to play a video game, but the controller is broken, half the buttons don’t work anymore, and the game is fighting against him. On screen, the character still moves- just not where he wants them to.

He soars up the stairs by his house and onto the front deck, nearly stumbling as he screeches to a halt at the door handle. When he bursts inside, all sweaty and out of breath, he finds Pearl waiting by the counter.

“Steven, there you are,” she begins with an uncharacteristically nervous waver to her voice. “About what happened... earlier, I wanted to say that—“

“Not now,” he pants, cutting her off with an apologetic gesture, palm spread open. He dashes past her and into the bathroom before she can even so much as lower her jaw to reply. With the comfort of his newfound privacy almost physically palpable, he fumbles with the door lock and flicks on the lights. Hands shake at his sides as his gaze turns to the mirror hanging over the sink. The unruly reflection he meets there is enough to make him flinch. Sweat plasters a few curls to his forehead. His cheeks are all flushed, the skin under his eyes still red and puffy from all the recent crying. His chest bows in and out as exhausted lungs heave for air, his head feeling all the more woozy and unbalanced for it.

Stars, he needs a nap. But as much as he’d love to pass out on the couch until dinner, now’s _super_ not the time. Rest can wait. At this moment, the only concrete thing he needs is answers.

 _Okay, Steven. Time to be a big boy and stop putting this off._ With everything that’s happened, and the fraught context it bears, the very concept of pink, diamond-y eyes is incredibly off-putting to him, but he values the certainty of knowing above all else. He’ll deal with the consequences later. Don’t think about the others, about how they may react. For now, he only needs to focus on what’s happening in the present.

And in this present, right here, right now, his eyes appear normal. Dark brown irises. Super human looking. See? No diamonds here! Hours of pent up tension melts from his body at the sight, his head lulling forward until it rests solid against the mirror. The glass feels so refreshing and cool against his forehead he almost wants to laugh in relief. He’s fine, he’s safe. Everything’s as it should be! Except...

Connie said it only happened when he was floating. Duh, of course! He _knows_ that! He’s letting his guard down too soon.

Steeling himself to the possibility once more, he inhales deep, letting his eyes flutter shut as he focuses on the feeling of joy required to tap into his floating ability. These days it comes instinctively when he’s jumping off a high perch, but it’s harder floating on command outside that context. It’s equally as hard trying to do so when there’s not that much to be happy about. Soon enough however, his feet leave the floor, everything weightless and airy as always.

He clenches his fists in preparation, and opens his eyes.

The flash of vivid pink reflected in that mirror is enough of a negative stimulus that it instantly grounds him. 

Shock draws a strangled yelp from his lips. His right ankle meets the floor first, the whole joint twisting as he crumples against the hamper sitting by the far wall. The clothes-filled bin topples over under his weight, towels and old shirts dumping across the hard tile. He hisses at the sharp burst of pain that blooms through that foot like thorns, licking his hand and preparing to meet the inflamed tissue head-on, but thankfully, the sensation fades before he can apply this salve. He shrugs, and wipes the spit off on one of the dirty towels.

Alright. So the floating definitely does it. Test number two.

Mustering every ounce of his strength, Steven picks himself off the floor, summons his shield, and dares himself to stop avoiding the boy in the mirror.

And as he meets his double‘s shockingly pink eyes once more, nothing but shades of frustration and hurt drawn over that too-young familiar face, his heart smashes out an endless beat ( ~~like a hammer to a metal smith’s anvil~~ ) as accompaniment to his slack-jawed realization:

Connie was absolutely right.

And wow, does he really, really wish she wasn’t.

* * *

His pocket buzzes some indistinct amount of time later. Maybe five minutes, maybe fifteen, he’s really not sure. All he knows for certain is that his back already aches from the lazy way he’s slumped against the wall, but Pearl hasn’t grown concerned enough to check on him yet— which to be fair, given the fact that the Gems once let him run about unsupervised on a deserted island for weeks, doesn’t provide any reliable upper estimate. No matter, though. Someone’s texting. In the wake of what he’s just discovered, any distraction is welcome.

Steven drags his phone out of his back pocket with a long sigh, opens the messaging app, and reads the text:

 **Connie:** _Here’s that fic I mentioned earlier, in case you still wanted it._

Managing a weak smile, he texts his thanks and bookmarks the link. He’s sure the Unfamiliar Familiar fic will be great, once he finally bounces back to his typical Steven-y self who is happy, and helpful and considerate to everyone, and feels even the slightest desire to partake in everyday pleasures like breakfast or donuts or books, and...

Oh geeze, he really blew it earlier, huh? As always, Connie was being a wonderful, supporting friend, and he totally took that for granted. He hung up in the middle of her goodbye, for cripe’s sake! That’s not what friendship’s about. That’s not what _Steven’s_ about. Everything in his life may be upsetting and stressful right now, but that doesn’t give him an excuse to turn around and take out his frustrations on the people he cares about. What on Earth is he doing? He’s supposed to make things _better!_

Thumbs hovering over the keyboard, he carefully considers how to apologize to her.

 _hey also..._ he begins to type. _i’m sorry about hanging up so suddenly, that was super rude of me and you didn’t deserve that. please accept this gif of a cat playing piano as penance._

He presses send, and waits. Miles and miles away in her cozy townhouse, his friend starts typing, as indicated by those three little dots. He nibbles at the inside of his cheek as the seconds tick onward. The dots disappear for a moment, (causing his breath to stall), then reappear. What is she writing? Is she penning him a whole _book?_ Or does she keep typing and deleting her words because she‘s unsure how best to respond? Oh no, if that's the case, then he must’ve have really hurt her feelings.

His phone vibrates. Gritting his teeth in preparation for the worse, he sneaks a glance at the screen.

 **Connie:** _It’s fine. You’re dealing with some heavy stuff rn and all._

Huh. So she’s... not upset. At least, not upset enough to admit as such.

The corner of his mouth curves down, ever so slight, as he wonders why life is letting him off so easy this time around. He’s sure he doesn't deserve it.

Another text rolls in.

 **Connie:** _Seriously, no worries, okay? We’re good. I needed to get back to packing anyways, haha._

Upon reading, a sense of deep exhaustion bears down upon his shoulders like a backpack chock full of adventuring gear, and though he’s certain their friendship is in no immediate danger he somehow feels more miserable than ever. He groans, and lays on his side in defeat, his head cushioned amongst the dirty laundry and his phone still clutched between desperate, nervous fingers. There’s so much he wishes he could admit to her, stuff he‘s still processing, truths he’s too scared to commit to words, but...

Is now the right time? Will there _ever_ be a ‘right time?’

...

_so about the eye thing... there’s some stuff i haven’t told you about what happened when i fused together again and I_ _think_ _it’s all related—_

After a moment’s consideration, he erases that whole message and starts again.

_oh, also- funny story i didn’t mention! my gem sorta went all topsy turvy on me, and that’s probably why my eyes were—_

Backspace.

_can i be honest with you? the reason i hung up is that i’m super uncomfortable about the thought of looking even a BIT more like my mom, and—_

Backspace, yet again. His fingers pause against the keys as he rereads Connie’s last message. He sighs.

_yeah i also have things i should probably do,_ he types, and presses send. _ttyl!!_

For a moment he considers sending along a heart as well, but decides against it. Immediately after an apology? Probably best not to push his luck.

(Steven swallows hard, trying his best not to stew in thought about the familiar-yet-unfamiliar weight of the diamond in his belly, or the unnatural pink tint of his irises when he so much as summons his shield.)

 _Especially_ not today.

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine Connie's an "I'm fine" kind of gal, too. I wouldn't say she's _upset_ with Steven for hanging up abruptly, since she knows he's in a rough place right now, but she's prone to downplaying the full extent of her emotions just as much as Steven is. I aim to address this further along the road in the main fic.


End file.
